Lisa Gardner - The killing hour

He probably had a place out in the country, or deep in the woods. Someplace far from civilization, where no one would ever be the wiser. That would make more sense, given his penchant for kidnapping young women.

But still, if she could climb out… Once on the surface she could run, hide, find a road, follow a stream. Even if she was deep in the middle of nowhere, up top she had a chance. It was more than she could say down here.

She resumed scouring the bumpy walls with her hands. Faster now. More determined. A moment later, she found it. A vine. Then another, and another. Some kind of invasive species, either seeking the mud or trying to escape. It didn’t matter to her.

Tina wrapped three vines around her hand and gave them an experimental tug. They seemed strong and resilient. Maybe she could use them. Balance her feet against the wall and use the vines to pull her way up. Why not? She’d seen it dozens of times on TV.

Fired with purpose now, she got serious. She pushed herself back onto her rocky perch and examined her worldly goods. She needed her purse; it had food and who knows what else might come in handy. Easy enough. She slung it over her shoulder and tried not to wince as the leather rubbed against her sunburned flesh. The water was trickier. It didn’t fit in her purse and she didn’t think she could grip a gallon jug and the vines in the same hand.

Briefly, she considered drinking all of it. Why not? It would feel so good going down her throat. Wonderful and wet. And she was making a break for it. Escaping from this hell. If she got on top, she wouldn’t need supplies anymore, would she?

Of course, she had no way of knowing that. She didn’t even know what was up there. No, no more drinking. The water needed to go with her. Even if it was heavy and hot to the touch. It was the only supply she had.

Her dress. The material was thin and wispy. She could tear it into strips and use them to tie the jug to her purse. She reached down with both hands and yanked at her hem. The material immediately slid undamaged from her grip. Her fingers were swollen and refused to cooperate. She tried again and again, panting hard, working herself into a frenzy.

The damn material refused to tear. She needed scissors. Of all the things not to have in her purse.

She bit back a sob. Feeling defeated again as the mosquitoes welcomed her stillness by once more resuming to feed. She had to move, she had to do something!

Her bra. She could take that off and loop it through the gallon jug with the shoulder straps serving as a handle. Or better yet, she could wrap the bra around her purse strap and let the water hang from her purse. Then her hands would be free for climbing. Perfect.

She lifted the hem of her sundress and peeled it from her skin. The flies and mosquitoes instantly got excited. Fresh, white flesh. New, unbloodied areas. She tried not to think about it as she worked on removing her sweat-soaked bra. The nylon fabric was sticky to the touch. She grimaced and finally got it off with a sigh.

It seemed pure cruelty to yank on her dripping, stinky dress. It felt so much better to be naked in this heat, no uncomfortable fabric rubbing her raw, salty skin. The faintest of breezes wafting against her breasts, her back…

She gritted her teeth, and forced her dress back on, the fabric rolling and twisting uncooperatively as she wiggled. For one moment, her foot slipped on the rock. She teetered precariously, looking down at the oozing mud. She dropped down on the rock and held on tight.

Her heart hammered against her ribs. Oh, she wanted done with this. She wanted to go home. She wanted to see her mother. She wanted a wonderful Minnesotan winter, when she could run outside and fling herself into the deep white snow. She remembered how the flakes tasted on the tip of her tongue. The sensation of fresh ice crystals melting in her mouth. The delicate tickle of more flakes feathering across her eyelashes.

Was she crying now? It was so hard to know with all the sweat on her face and the flies encrusting the corners of her eyes.

“I love you, Ma,” Tina whispered. And then she had to break off the thought before she definitely wept.

She looped her bra around the jug handle, fastened it around her purse and pushed it behind herself. The dragging weight of it was awkward, and the water sloshed up dangerously close to the uncapped top, but it was the best she could do. She had her supplies. Next.

She balanced on the rock, then grimly fell forward against the wall. Her hands scraped against the surface, catching her weight. Then she searched for vines. She found six. She wrapped three around each hand, feeling them bite into her sunburned hands. Time to grin and bear it.

Tina stepped out of her highly impractical shoes. One last deep breath. The sun beating down on her head. The sweat rolling down her cheeks. The bugs buzzing, buzzing, buzzing.

Tina pulled on the vines with both arms while simultaneously throwing her right foot at the wall. Her toes scrabbled for traction against the algae-slick surface, found a drier patch and dug in. On the count of three, she heaved up with her arms.

And simultaneously felt the vines give way. She was falling back, her leg already kicking back, trying to find her rocky perch. The water gallon jug swung wildly, further upsetting her balance. She wasn’t going to make it, she was going to fall into the stinking muck.

Tina pushed desperately with her hands, releasing her panicked grip on the vines. She went careening back onto her rock. Windmilling, twisting, then suddenly, gratefully, collapsing down onto the stable surface. The water, water, water. Her hands frantically found the jug, still magically upright and holding the last of her precious supply.

She was back on her rock, she had some water, she was safe.

The vines collapsed into the muck below. As they did so, she noticed their edges. Cut clean halfway through. And then came the fluttering piece of white paper, as if loosened by the turbulence above.

Tina reached up a tired hand and felt the paper fall into her palm.

She drew it toward her.

It read: HEAT KILLS.

“You son of a bitch,” Tina tried to scream, but her throat was too dry, the words coming out as a mere whisper. She licked her lips. It did no good. She hung her head tiredly, and felt the last of her strength leach from her body.

She needed more food. She needed more water. She needed a break from this desperate heat if she was ever going to survive. And now the bugs were back, the mosquitoes, the yellow flies, feasting, feasting, feasting.

“I’m not going to die here,” she muttered resolutely, trying to summon some force of will. “Dammit, I won’t do it.”

But if she couldn’t make it up out of the pit…

Very slowly, Tina’s gaze went to the thick, slithering muck.

Shenandoah National Park, Virginia

4:25 P . M .

Temperature: 99 degrees

“THE SEARCH AREA HAS BEEN DIVIDED into ten different sections. Each team of two should analyze their section on the map, then work it in the standard grid pattern. In the good news department, since the hiker has been missing for only twenty-four hours, she shouldn’t have wandered beyond a thirty-mile radius, giving us a fairly contained target for search. In the bad news department, this thirty-mile radius contains some of the harshest, steepest terrain in the entire park. Here’s what you need to know:

“One, lost hikers inevitably head down . They’re tired, they’re fatigued and once they lose their sense of direction, they’ll head down the mountain even when help lies just twenty feet away over the next hill. Two, hikers will also gravitate toward the sound of running water. Everyone knows how important water is, especially someone who is disoriented. If there is water in your section of the grid, check the areas around the streams carefully and follow them for as long as you can. Three, once off the groomed hiking trails, this is rough country. The underbrush is thick, the footing treacherous. Be on the lookout for upturned rocks, broken branches, and trampled underbrush. If this woman is still on the trails, chances are someone would’ve seen her by now. So most likely she’s in the wild and we’re going to have to do this the hard way.”